Rose had stopped crying.
Rose
On a night when I didn’t just hit rock bottom but nearly excavated the ground to go further beneath rock bottom, I actually found something in me that I didn’t think I would find so soon.
Strength.
Admittedly, from the outside, it probably looked like I was as weak as ever. I had just cried like a baby throwing the worst tantrum of her life, I was holding my ex-boyfriend as tightly as I could, and I still was broke and in a shitty part of town.
But I hadn’t called LeCharles back because I needed someone else for support.
I had called him back because my hug for him was meant to be a form of gratitude. It was to thank him for pulling me out of hell before things got worse, to the point where they would have irreversible effects on my life. And because of that strength, I could be honest with myself.
I didn’t just want to make things “right.”
I wanted LeCharles back.
But I didn’t want the asshole LeCharles back. I didn’t want the guy who had stood me up at Joe’s Java and then treated me like shit when he finally arrived. That was not the real LeCharles.
The real guy was the one who would surprise me after a stressful day at work with a heart-shaped box of Godiva chocolates. The real guy was the one who would take me to the beach without asking, knowing full well that it was the place that I could relax, even if I had an MCAT textbook in front of me. The real guy listened, was kind, and didn’t try and offer unsolicited advice.
I wanted that LeCharles back. But I now had the strength, from whatever source I needed, to realize that if the LeCharles before me was not that LeCharles, I could move on.
Maybe it was because I recognized that at this point, the only place I had to go was up. Maybe it was because I recognized that the only thing that was going to save me was myself—not a man, not a job, not even Shiloh.Although that dog is awfully adorable and sweet.
I looked up into his eyes to finally say, “thank you.”
But when I did, I did not expect to see what I did—hope.
LeCharles had hope in his eyes too. He was trying to fight it.
No, that wasn’t right. It was like he was trying to figure out if he wanted to feel it or not. It confirmed my suspicions, and I could see it with such clarity. The old LeCharles was still in there, but it was buried beneath the ugly end to our last relationship and years and years of suffering.
I put my hand on his cheek, almost in awe of the fact he could still feel those things. He put his hand on mine. This was getting dangerous, and I didn’t care. We both... we both knew what could happen.
And I didn’t mean that just in the negative sense of the word. We knew what sort of joy, happiness, and love we could bring each other. We’d lived it almost exclusively for the first half of our relationship, and even in the latter half when things slowly started to fall apart. Even in the last weeks, when it felt like life was one eternal hell, there were still moments where the good shined through.
It was worth trying to unlock that.
It was worth taking a risk.
We pulled each other close, and we kissed.
And when we kissed, it was like we unlocked all of the good parts of the past. Instead of opening Pandora’s Box, where we unleashed all of the bad parts of the world, we had unleashed all of the good things from the old days. The old feelings of erotic love, of true love... it was all so fast, and it was all so much, but it felt real.
It felt right.
He pushed me down onto the bed as our kissing ramped up in intensity. Our bodies were moving all around each other. My legs were wrapped around his hips, pulling me closer. His hands were reaching down inside of my jeans, not quite yet at the point of no return but daring me to allow him to go there.
I was getting wrapped up in the moment very fast, far too fast for me to retain control. The first few moments of that kiss might have felt right and felt erotic, but now I was starting to get flooded with hormones. I wasn’t looking at LeCharles, the man before me. I was looking at LeCharles, the fantasy made reality. It was like the pendulum had swung from darkness to reality... and then straight through reality and up to a brightness so luminous that it blinded me.
Nevertheless, I didn’t stop. I reached down to the bottom of his shirt and lifted it off. He was still just as muscular and ripped as he was before. I wanted to say something so bad, but words felt like they would ruin the moment or, worse, pull us out of it to the point of being unable to recover. Instead, I was content to run my hands over his back and his obliques, admiring the lines of his muscles and how they tensed and flexed under different stimuli.
I also removed my top, and LeCharles reached around and removed my bra. I offered no resistance and, in fact, welcomed him doing so. If I was to be naked with my emotions and my honesty, then I had to get to that point literally.
I pressed my hips under him, and though I did not have the strength to move him myself, LeCharles nevertheless got the hint. He rolled back over and allowed me to mount him. I sat back on his crotch, running my hips over his, tossing my head back as his hands groped and squeezed my breasts. I still did not dare speak, but there were certainly some pleasant moans.
I leaned forward in an erotic lust and kissed him again, this time going full bore with my tongue. My hips ground against his even harder, and I was at the point of just needing him to give me sexual release. I didn’t even care what happened anymore. I had lost my clarity of consequences or implications or anything that extended beyond the feeling in my sex. I just wanted that release—nothing else mattered or was even considered.
